


Old Time's Sake

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mildly Dubious Content, Relationship(s), Repressed Memories, Shotgunning, Trikey - Freeform, i love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The job that caused him to move wasn't supposed to end the way it did. But, with one deal, it ultimately worked out. Even if one guy was in the ground, Michael wasn't dead and the other dropped off the face of the earth.
Relationships: Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa (Mentioned), Michael De Santa & Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. Cigarettes & Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is my 2nd work in the fandom and frankly this will be better than my first one skxjskks.

The beach still had a decent wave of people on it as the sun began to set and the sky was painted in beautiful purples and pinks. The owners of nearby stores quickly began to turn on their neon signs and turn on the lights that hung above the entire strip of stores that outlined the Del Perro pier. Los Santos might've been a superficial city, but there was nothing superficial about the view. It was simply beautiful, even with the waves of blondes, hipster guys and the occasional bodybuilder. It what was made Los Santos, Los Santos. You didn't get that in Blaine County with its hillbillies or Paleto Bay with it's—whatever's up there.

Michael—being the egotistical old man who'd chased a dream and finally struck gold that he was—had began to call Los Santos his home nearly nine years ago. The job that caused him to move wasn't supposed to end the way it did. But, with one deal, it ultimately worked out. Even if one guy was in the ground, Michael wasn't dead and the other dropped off the face of the earth. But, when it came to ANY type of score, plans sometimes don't come up to par. That's how he got to this moment.

He was currently at a somewhat secluded portion of the pier. The dimming sunset was clearly visible from where he was, the light reflecting against the gentle waves. Some of the coloured lights from nearby theme rides painted his face ever so slightly. He was leaning against the rail, reflecting on the last few months. Said few months had severely kicked his ass mentally, emotionally and physically and anyone who knew him well enough believes that he deserved it. Hell, even Michael himself believed he deserved it. It all began when he met Franklin and did the first job since his 'retirement', then his psychotic best friend walked to his kitchen, following with him and said best friend laying low in Sandy Shores which eventually led to him being held hostage by Wei Cheng, then, the secret kept from his best friend had finally gotten out and he'd had another target on his back—once again— and last, but not least, the Big One. All of it. He deserved it.

But now, he was _actually_ retired. Michael had met Solomon Richards within those few months, and he was now a movie producer. He _dreamed_ to be one his entire life and he finally had it. The mere thought of his movie _Meltdown_ made him smile as he took out a cigarette. As he lit it, he heard the tires of an all too familiar vehicle pull up nearby. This time, he was relieved to hear them. "Hey, porkchop!" The other male called as the soft thump of his boots grew louder as he approached Michael with a grin. Michael had described the man in the past as his 'psychotic former bff', but he was thankful to see him. More than he'd admit. He always had some sort of concern for him even while he was in witness protection; no clue if he was alive or dead.

Michael rolled his eyes at one of many nicknames he had gotten from the other, chuckling. He finally replied with a “Hey, T.” as he finally took a hit of the cigarette he had. Trevor. Trev. _T._ He was ultimately Michael's better half. His insane, off the chain, nonchalant, yet better half. He and Michael shared a bunch of firsts, and ever since they met they've been inseparable. Then, the job in Ludendorff left them separated for 9, almost 10 years with Trevor thinking he was dead. At some point when they'd reunited, he'd found out what _really_ happened and he ultimately forgave Michael without really saying it. He was his best friend, after all.

“H-Hey, T.” He mocked, nudging him gently with a grin. “C'monnnnn! Where's the excitement, eh? Aren't you glad to see me?” His accent poured into the sentence as he took a spot next to the other, leaning against the railing as well. “You really gotta quit that shit—Where's Frank?” Smoke drifted around the two for a moment before Michael rolled his eyes at the jab at his addiction and responded, shrugging as he spoke. “I mean—he's somewhere capturing the moment, being young and free like we _could've_ done, but didn't. You gotta admit it Trevor, even though we pulled our dream job off—does it really feel right?”

The anticipation for an answer hung in the air. Trevor didn't immediately respond, but when he did, he began with a sigh. "In some ways, it does make sense. But we're gettin' older, sugartits. We're not those crazy fuckin' kids that we were twenty years ago, but, look, the better question is what the hell are we gonna do now?” He looked out into the fading sunset, voice growing soft as his mood slowly began to drop. Trevor never wanted to let go of their friendship, nor their entire partnership. But in reality, it was long overdue. 

The sky was now dark, and Trevor flipped his position so his back was now leaning against the rail. The lights of nearby rides illuminating his features, showing a wrinkle in his forehead. There was another moment of silence, Michael took that moment to look over at Trevor. “Well..” He began, taking another drag of his cigarette. “What else is there for us? We're basically ri—!”

 _“It was never about the fuckin' money, Townley!”_ Trevor said, his volume rising just a tad bit. “I did this, because of _you_ , Michael, you changed my fuckin life. You made _ME_ — _nothing_ —into _something_.”

Another silent moment, only the sounds of the nearby amusement rides, distant people winning games and parts of yelled conversations could be heard. Michael opened his mouth to respond, yet closed it again. Finally, the younger male began to laugh. The laugh sounded eerily mocking in Michael's ears, making him put out his cigarette. “I ain't say it was, T—What the fuck is so funny?” He finally said, slightly annoyed with his humor.

“ _You,_ Mikey! You're fuckin' hilarious.” The statement made Michael roll his eyes. Either Trevor was being dramatic as always, or he was actually being serious this time around. You could never tell. “Enlighten me, please, T.” Trevor's features softened as he was looking at the ground and with a sigh, he let his eyes close. “M, I love you. I fuckin’ love you, but I fuckin’ hate you so goddamn much.”

Michael stood, tempted to light the now dead cigarette he just put out. Apart of him had always loved Trevor, believe it or not, but he had a family. One that Trevor loved—Well, he loved Tracey and Jimmy. So couldn't he understand? “T, you know how I feel about you. But, you also know that I've got a fuckin' family. What I did, and what I continue to do, is for their sake.”

“Oh, well, that's just fuckin' beautiful, Mikey!” Trevor bellowed, the sarcasm elevating with his temper. “Last time I checked, you were having _problems_ with said family, and said family also _left_ you to wallow in your own goddamn pity in your big fuckin' house. But, don't forget who was there when they left you, huh? That's right. _ME.”_ Michael was now leaning his back against the rail as well, watching Trevor back up from the pole and stand across from him. He had pointed to his chest when he uttered those last words, a twinge of realization hitting Michael. He was right.

He'd always ran back to Trevor, even during his and Amanda's early marriage days. They were—and, sort of, still are—inseparable. They might have been taking scores together with Lester, but they also began to fuck around. All it took was some good meth, alot of weed, and previous unresolved sexual tension for the rest to be history that night. When they weren't together for 9 years, it was hurtful on both ends, but, Michael had grown accustomed to life without Trevor, yet worried about whether or not he was alive. Trevor, on the other hand, started his new life dwelling on Michael's death. He'd became dependent on meth, his explosive behavior had gotten worse and after awhile he'd met Ron and Wade, taken them under his wings and decided to take what he knew and start a corporation of his own.

“You're right.” Michael finally said, shrugging his shoulders with defeat. “You sound like a fuckin’ broken record, but you're right.. let me make it up to you.” He suggested, walking up to the other male and stopping when he was as close as he could be without touching him. Trevor stood, raising a brow at the statement. “Oh? How will you 'make it up to me', huh? a couple cheap beers and then a fuckin’ wack ass depart?” He received a shake of Michael's head in response, “Nah, I was thinking alot of whatever gets us nice and fucked up and maybe, uh, y'know.. a hotel or somethi—”

“You got it, sugar. I read you loud and clear.” He responded with a small growl, a grin creeping onto his lips. His hazel orbs lined up with Michael's ocean blues and for a split second, Trevor went back to that night he saw them above him for the first time, the moon shining in them. Lust filled. Tantalizing. Their gaze then made them gravitate towards eachother as they locked their lips in a hungry, yet simple kiss. One they haven't had since their younger days.

Trevor was the one to pull away slightly, smiling against Michael's lips. “C'mon, the quicker we get the shit the quicker we can have some goddamn fun! I'll handle the _special_ items, you get the room and the beer—or whiskey, whatever you prefer, porkchop. You know I'm not picky.”

“Fine, fine. Don't murder any poor soul while you're out.” Michael chuckled, making his way towards the parking lot just outside where they were standing. Trevor followed, making sure to say one last comment before speeding away in his rust orange coloured vehicle. 

“Good luck, porkchop.”


	2. Reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is bad. mainly because i was rushing, and then i felt like it was good, and i added more and then y’know i said “fuck it” so here we are! uh, i also night edit it again after i publish it. depends if it's bad. i really need help plotting this because i have no idea what the fuck i’m doing ahaha enjoy! 
> 
> also think if this as like a christmas present or something. <3

_“M, tell me about it.”_

_Silence._

_“C’mon, how the fuck are we gonna rob people together but not know shit about each other?”_

_And with that, a sigh escaped the older criminal’s lips. It was 1993, a month or so after the two had met and it was going smoother than expected—until now._

_“What exactly does my past have to do with anything?” Michael asked, annoyance in his tone. He didn’t have time to get interrogated by a guy he barely knew. He watched the smaller criminal as he half-assed rolling a blunt across the room, huffing when he finally got it rolled and ready to smoke. In the back of Michael's mind, he wondered how long he'd exactly had that on him._

_That was Trevor for you. Full of fuckin’ surprises._

_When Trevor finally responded, it was after a long hit. The smoke passing through his slightly chapped lips with an audible sigh. “I just wanna get to know you, sugar. No harm in that, eh?” His burning gaze met Michael's, going for another hit. He closed his eyes as he exhaled once more, more smoke drifting into the atmosphere. “Plus, I’m an open book, M. My integrity is something I cherish the most.” The statement earned him a chuckle. “I ain't got nothin’ to hide, but I’m not exactly the ‘express my feelings to a stranger’ type of guy.” Michael argued, trying to sway the subject. “I don't wanna talk about it.”_

_Again. Silence._

_There was nothing louder in the room than Trevor's gaze on him. **Stranger.** A mix of hurt and slight offense on his features and in those hazel eyes. He opened his mouth, but the sentence he tried to form never came. Of course Michael didn't trust him. “Alrighty then, brother. Maybe not today, but I’ll figure it out. Sooner or later.” If Michael hadn't known any better, it would've sounded like a threat. But coming from Trevor, it was more so a promise. _

_After what seemed to be hours of silence between the two, Michael finally moved from where he sat and grabbed his jacket, slipping it onto his broad shoulders. “I’m goin’ for a smoke—don't burn down the place.” He half joked, pulling out a single cigarette and his lighter. When he got to the door, he paused, a hand on the doorknob. “My father always expected something more from me, but here I am—a failed QB who turned into a two bit criminal. But, hey—at least I’m havin’ the time of my life out here.”_

_He could feel Trevor's gaze burning a whole into his back. “Did he hurt you?” The other asked, voice small and slightly cautious. He hadn't quite moved yet, wanting to say more but not finding the words. It was sensitive ground for both of them, but Michael answered anyway. “Sure. Nearly killed me once. Glad that ain’t happen.” His response was quick, simple and even pained. Uttering the last words, he finally stepped outside, feeling the weight of tension come off of his shoulders._

_Man, what did he get himself into._

“Fuck.”

Silence filled the room as only one of the men occupied it, his back facing the only entrance as he sat on the bed. If anyone didn't know better, they would've thought he was masturbating—sounding clearly frustrated. Phone in hand, his leg bounced nearly anxiously—or maybe it was the meth he had on his way there—awaiting for the other to arrive. He also finally sent the text he had typed, after staring at it for what seemed to be hours.

_‘rm 7 dn’t b late shithead’_

Trevor's mind, at this point, was racing. This entire scenario felt too good to be true, really. It probably was, but that didn't matter. He and Michael we're finally coming to _good_ terms. Even though the past 9 years of their— what, 20 something?—year friendship hadn't been the kindest, it was like they picked up right where they left off. It reminded him of the last time they'd been in this situation.

_The last time before he left._

_“Yeahyeah, fuck, I love you, Mi—” He breathed out, only to be met with a ‘shh’._

_“Shit, T—Don't say that.”_

_“Fuck, Michael, fuck, but I do-”_

_“T, trust me. Shut up.”_

The Canadian was so engulfed in thought that he never heard the door open, or Michael come in, nor did he hear the notification for his text. Sucking in his breath, he quickly pulled out his pistol, pointing it directly at Michael. Those final words ringing in his ears. _ShutupShutupSHUTUP._

_Chill out, T._

“Whoa, whoa—T, hey, it's just me. Chill out.” Michael threw his hands up defensively, a beer in one hand. Trevor faltered, lowering the weapon. “You'd think I'd hear your fatass comin’ from a fuckin’ mile away.” He chuckled, almost nervously, catching the bottle of beer that came his way.

_There's nothing to be worried about, T. Calm the fuck down._

“So, what, you got some cheesy movie to brainwash me with?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I can always go back and get one.” Michael teased, cracking open his own alcoholic beverage and taking a hearty swig. He had brought up this idea in the first place, but no matter how much he _seemed_ to want it there was something in him that didn't. Something in him that wanted him to leave right now and never look back. He never knew why, either. Could it have been Trevor? Amanda? This kids? Dave? He had no fuckin’ clue. Drinking just dissolved all of those thoughts that dwindled his mood.

_“Y’know, when I said—I wanted to shotgun, I didn’t think it’d end up like—ahh, fuck!”_

_Legs entwined, breathing turned erratic. Soon the bigger male was over him._

_“You talk too fuckin’ much, T.” His hand was over his neck, not in a harsh way, just so he could keep him pinned. “‘M about to get soft again from it.”_

_“Fuck you, Townley.”_

_“Mm, yeah, but ain't I the one doing the fucking?”_

_A glare from the younger male, but it wasn't hostile. It was more of a ‘you're right, but go ahead and get on with it’ type of glare. The one he never forgot._

“1998, North—Or was it South? Dakota. We stayed in that hotel with the weird stairs in the middle of batshit nowhere. Remember that night?” Michael asked, on his 3rd can of beer. “That was a good fuck.” He added.

“Mikey, Mikey” Trevor began, “Don't get fuckin’ sentimental about your youth now. You know how that shit makes me feel.” A grin. That _fuck._ “But, you're right. It wasn't a good fuck. It was in fact a _great_ fuck, cupcake.”

His slightly drunken gaze met Trevor's as he took his time to pronounce that last sentence, which went straight to his dick. Embarrassingly enough, his deep, flirtatious tone definitely did a number on Michael. But he knew better, knowing the façade would break as soon as he dominated him. 

No matter how much he tried to repress it, he knew he loved it. Disheveled Trevor underneath him, his trembling limbs and flushed features. It was all so beautiful to him. He'd seen him like that countless times, even in the beginning when they started with simple handjobs. Over time, Trevor got insistent and they switched to blowjobs, and then in ‘98 they had their first fuck.

Nothing was more mesmerizing than that night.

“Looks like you're pitchin’ a tent, huh, sugar?” Trevor purred, his slim fingers making his way towards the older male's crotch, grabbing his erection, applying slight pressure to it. “If it makes you feel better—I am too.”

Michael exhaled, his gaze meeting Trevor's once more.

“Of course you are.”

And with that, their mouths collided.


End file.
